Who Else Would Understand
by PaleoM
Summary: Written for the Lewis Challenge on LJ ages ago and just realised I never posted it here. Hathaway asks "Tell me about Morse?" and Lewis does. It was like the memory of Morse was fragile in his hands and he wanted to do this right, and he also realised that he wanted Hathaway to like Morse even though the lad would never meet him.


_enednoviel wrote: Subject: Fic, Hathaway/Lewis_

_Prompt: I'd love to read a story where Lewis tells Hathaway more about Morse and his friendship to him. Can be gen or slash, it doesn't matter to me_

_Setting: Last scene of LEWIS: 0518 - WILD KIND OF JUSTICE – AU_

_Teasing hints of Lewis/Hathaway_

_For ease: James/Lewis = James' POV & Robbie/Hathaway = Robbie's POV_

_Written for the Lewis Challenge. This is how I think this episode should have finished._

**Who Else Would Understand...**

"It's not what I'm saying, what I'm saying is if you go I go," James said calmly, his face never once belying the battering of the heart in his chest, was this too much? A tendril of fear wrapped itself around his heart, it was, it was too much, too close to the truth. He watched Lewis' reaction while thinking how to redirect, to reduce the impact of his words.

Lewis had just taken a sip from his pint but he froze for a nanosecond without swallowing, eyes blown wide as they flicked towards James, as he returned the pint to the table, his eyes still trained on him as if trying to figure out how serious he was before looking away and gulping more than swallowing the mouthful of larger he had taken.

Just as Lewis gulped James continued before Lewis himself could respond, "Who else would… understand me?" He followed it up with a quick depreciating smile.

Lewis huffed over a quick quirk of a smile. "Well I had practice didn't I?"

"Morse?"

"Aye, Morse. You're nowhere near as belligerent as him mind, but by god you can be just as annoying."

"Thank you, Sir," Hathaway deadpanned but followed it up with a cheeky grin.

Robbie smiled in return, "Cheeky bugger. Trust me; if I'm likening you to Morse then it's a compliment, at least in my book it is."

There was a pause from Hathaway, enough to intrigue Robbie into looking over at him, watching him hesitate before he spoke, "Maybe if you told me a bit about him?" The voice was strained with casual innocence. Hathaway had obviously been dying for the subject of Morse to come up which didn't surprise Robbie, Morse was a bit of a legend even now. "You do keep him pretty close to your chest," Hathaway commented softly.

"I'm pretty sure I don't," Robbie responded, suddenly looking at the setting sun, anywhere but at his Sergeant.

Will you tell me about Morse?" Hathaway asked quietly, quietly enough that Robbie knew he could pretend he hadn't heard him if he wanted. They were always giving each other these outs, the chance to hide if they wanted it, but hadn't he just told Hathaway that he didn't keep Morse close to his chest, what reason then did he have not to talk about him.

Hathaway guarded his own secrets, secrets upon secrets if Robbie guessed right. Maybe he likewise did guard Morse like a cherished secret, held the things he knew like a prize knowing that not many knew Morse like he did, or maybe it just hurt too much to talk about a man who he missed more than he thought possible. Maybe if he opened up Hathaway might open up about his past but he hadn't really talked about Morse in years, just the odd comment catching in his throat as he dropped them here and there.

After everything, maybe it was time to really remember the man in his entirety. He nodded before looking over at Hathaway. "Okay," he huffed a quick laugh at Hathaway's surprised face but the laugh was quickly replaced by a frown, how to describe Morse. "But I'm going to need another drink if we're talking about Morse," he said as he handed over his empty pint.

He shrugged as Hathaway took the glass, "Although ta be honest, I'm not sure that I can. Everything I tell you 'bout him will sound like an insult, you had to really know him to understand. He was cantankerous, intelligent, morose, alcoholic, musically obsessed, selfish," Robbie shook his head, "brilliant. I could sprout words all day and most of them insulting and none of 'em would get you any nearer to understanding. It's hard."

"Well have a think about it while I get these in, Sir" Hathaway said as he stood up, taking the empty glass along with his own, before he headed back to the bar. Robbie was pretty sure he was moving at just under a jog, while trying to make it look like a saunter. It was nice to see the lad so eager about something, and under other circumstances Robbie would have found him struggling to maintain his cool exterior funny, but Robbie couldn't help but wish it was about something else other than Morse.

Robbie was already adamant he wasn't going to pass on Morse's christian name, knowing damn well how close the man had guarded that secret and that if he hadn't been in the right place at the right time then he may never have known it either. Robbie was also not going to discuss the little he knew of Morse's childhood, no way. Those things at least he knew were Morse's secrets that he would guard to his grave, but what else should he leave out and what should he leave in, those were the thoughts that ran through Robbie's head.

Robbie was nervously awaiting Hathaway's return, still wondering if he could back out of it. It was like the memory of Morse was fragile in his hands and he wanted to do this right, and he also realised that he wanted Hathaway to like Morse even though the lad would never meet him. Robbie wanted his Sergeant to think well of Morse, and at the same time he wanted his Sergeant to know the real Morse. Robbie just hoped he could manage it. Hathaway returned eagerly while trying to look casual and easy, holding out Robbie's pint.

Robbie couldn't help but smile inwardly at his Sergeant's eagerness and wondered how long Hathaway had been waiting to ask, waiting for what he considered the perfect opportunity. So overly polite in many ways, he wondered how long Hathaway would have waited to ask if not for today, probably never would have because the lad rarely put his own wants first.

James watched as Lewis took his pint and sipped from it, stalling he thought at first, but as James sat down beside him Lewis took another slow drink of his pint and James could see he was using it as an excuse to gather his thoughts before he began in slow thoughtful tones, "Morse was intelligent, sometimes I wonder how intelligent. Definitely an intellectual but generally you only saw that in the quotes, but I have no doubt he knew more than just literature. He was always saying something about something," Lewis smiled, his eyes briefly meeting James own, "You remind me of him in a lot of ways, good ways," he added quickly when James couldn't help but show his surprise.

Lewis looked away again, his face contemplative as he considered something, "I think most of our colleagues thought it wasn't so much because it was the right thing to do, but more to prove he was more intelligent than the murderer that gave him his passion to catch the bad guy."

Lewis' face had turned serious and unknowingly showed his bitterness of those people, his voice turning heavy with conviction, "but I worked along side him, I saw his loathing for people who didn't do the right thing. He was always hardest, almost unforgiving on those type of people even over his prime suspect. Compassionate for those who had tried to do the right thing, but still bound to do his job.

"Although I never admitted it to Morse I do think jealousy played a small part, his clear rate was spectacular and he made it all seem so easy. Though some people just never liked Morse and never would, just a personality clash and sometimes he brought it on himself unwittingly; he was always quoting some sonnet or play or painting that we'd never heard of. Most people thought he was insulting them."

Lewis paused as he turned and stared at James intently, like he was willing him to believe, not realising just how very easy it was for him to understand, "but it wasn't that, he never did it to put people down, it was just a part of him, like breathing. He used it to communicate, he just didn't ever realise it was like a different bloody language. He'd always get so frustrated when no one understood," then Lewis suddenly smiled broadly, "But so happy when someone did or at least me, he'd grin this great big smile, just on the verge of laughing."

James was watching Lewis, amazed and a little bit overwhelmed that he was describing Morse and didn't seem to realise that he could just as easily be describing him. Talking openly about how people perceived Morse, without once seeing that people perceived James exactly like that. A cold intellectual who insulted them at every turn, except he wasn't like that at all and neither was Morse but Lewis knew that. Lewis had recognised that in Morse and he recognised it in James and yet even now he didn't seem to make the connection.

Lewis shrugged, his gaze returning to his glass as one of his fingertips traced a pattern against the beer glass, as if he didn't really want to admit the next bit, "Don't get me wrong, he never meant his intelligence to insult people but that didn't mean he didn't insult them on purpose, and he could insult a person with ease. He'd just throw in this barb and it would hit like a hand grenade and then he'd just carry on like he hadn't just buried a knife in the other person's heart. He thought mental laziness was depraved."

Lewis looked up with a smile, "If he could have arrested people for it he would have. If he ever came across people who didn't think for themselves, or at all, he would insult 'em without pause, no one was spared, even me on occasion."

Lewis smiled fondly, "Not as much as he did others, he allowed that I wasn't as intelligent and he'd get frustrated with me for not seeing it as quick as he did and occasionally he'd get so frustrated he'd insult me but he'd always find a way to apologise, without actually apologising though, god forbid Morse ever said he was sorry." James heard the tiniest hint of bitterness at that last sentence, the only judgemental emotion he'd ever heard coming from Lewis in relation to Morse. He made a decision then and there that he would always find a way to actually say he was sorry.

"He drank heavily, although he said it was never for pleasure, just to help him think." Lewis smiled, "He thought A LOT. He lived by himself in this big house, never knew why he had a big family house and I always wondered if there was a story there but if there was I never heard it. As much as I knew, even I didn't know everything, barely scratched the surface I reckon.

"He never had much luck with woman that I ever knew of – they were always his downfall. He thought all women were delicate, innocent creatures. He was always surprised when they turned out to be vengeful and violent. Time and time again a soft spoken woman would blind him and I knew there was going to be trouble.

"He didn't talk much about personal things, mostly he talked about music. He loved his music, classical or operatic, but it had to be by certain composers. Someone tried to kill him once and they used this recording by some composer Morse hated to hide the fuse. You should have heard how indignant he was, I think he was more offended that the murderer put that amongst his collection than he was they actually tried to murder him." Robbie chuffed a laugh.

"He kept long hours too. No one at home so he was always in the office, except when he was in the pub. He used to stress Strange out, Innocent's predecessor," Robbie added to Hathaway's raised eyebrow, obviously arriving long after Strange had left.

Robbie turned melancholy. "He was hard work, but by god he was worth it. I learned so much from him, he made me think, god every single minute of every day he made me think. I reckon if he'd lived I would have remained his sergeant forever." Robbie's voice had turned rough with emotion and he paused, forcing down sadness and taking another sip from his pint so that he could compose himself.

James didn't think he would continue and he watched Lewis' face slowly fall, so much sadness and regret. Just as James was about to speak, anything to break the painful silence, Lewis' voice continued, quietly "I nearly left once," he said into his beer as if he was too embarrassed to admit it face to face with Hathaway, "I was so angry, like I was with you that day. I don't get that angry very often but when I think I've been betrayed, hurt then I lash out. I say things I can't take back, things I regret. I had this inspector offering me a job with promotion, like the devil whispering in my ear and just circumstances and Morse's natural cantankerous nature made me believe it was the right move."

"You changed your mind or did he talk you round?" James asked, his voice matching the sotto tones, unwilling to speak too loudly into the silence.

Lewis coughed roughly, his throat catching on emotion before he shook his head gently, "Morse didn't talk about things like that." He looked back at James with a bittersweet smile before glancing away again, "Actions speak louder than words don't they say?"

James frowned in curiosity, "What did he do?"

Lewis looked up at him, eyes oddly intent and there was stubborn pride in his eyes as he stated, "He saved my life, he killed the first person in his career and a woman at that, to save my life, and then he took me home to my wife without a word about the angry words we'd had earlier or seeking so much as a thank you for what he did. I was back at my desk just as soon as I could be and I never left till after…" Lewis swallowed but his voice was still raw with emotion, "I never left, never thought about it again.

Lewis paused, lost in thought and James knew his mind was in the past and James and his surroundings had faded from Lewis' mind, trapped in a memory that James couldn't share. He gave Lewis time to compose himself, thinking surely that was it, so much more than he had expected. He was honoured that Lewis shared it with him, and guilty because he felt a little jealous of Morse, of the obvious respect and love that Lewis showed for him. Not a romantic love, but something so deep just the same.

He was therefore surprised when Lewis continued, his voice frustrated, maybe even a little angry, "God I miss him so much. Yet I couldn't tell you why, he was annoying, selfish, egotistical, his only saving graces was his intelligence and his surprising humour. We never talked about things, it was always about the case or Wagner or some such, we only socialised in the pub so he'd have someone to drive him home and…" Lewis paused, his voice turning soft again, "but by god how I miss him.

"Morse was amazing to watch, to listen to even if he was insulting you, and underneath everything he had this massive heart that he let every pretty women into on sight and hardly anyone else and never told them if he did. Val wasn't the only ghost I left behind when I left Oxford or the only ghost I returned to. Every case we take I can feel him looking over my shoulder tutting because I'm not getting it fast enough for him, I keep expecting to walk into my office and find a finished times crossword. God there used to be crossword puzzles everywhere."

Lewis looked back at James with a shrug and a rueful smile, "So you see telling you about Morse is impossible. No one could, the only way to know Morse, to understand him was to actually meet him and listen to him and watch him. I'm afraid you'll never truly know or understand because it's too late for you, and I pity you that loss," Lewis suddenly smiled this huge grin, even though his eyes were still glassy with unformed tears, "because I would have paid good money to see you two work together. Oh his face would have been a picture when you beat him to the quotes and that cool disapproving tone you do, that would have been a constant with Morse. I've thought about it and I just can't decide if you'd love each other or hate each other."

"I'm not sure what tone you're referring to, Sir" James replied, using the cold tone of disapproval he had perfected but following it up with a soft smile.

Lewis smile was fragile but present, "No, course not. I don't know what I was thinking."

The smile slowly fell away and Lewis' lips quivered as he spoke one final time about Morse, his voice now gruff with emotion, his voice breaking but he struggled through regardless, this the most important of memories to speak off. "One more thing I forgot to mention, Morse was my friend. I don't know how or why but he was without a doubt my very best friend. Even as close as we were he still remained an enigma in many ways. Strange told me his last words were 'Thank Lewis for me', I never understood what he was thanking me for."

James had listened to everything but it was this last that told him all he needed to know about Morse because if Lewis counted him as a friend then he was someone special indeed and lucky to boot. James smiled, "I think I know."

Lewis frowned at him, unshed tears hanging in his eyelashes that neither of them spoke of and there was almost a plea in his voice, his need to understand these final words, "You do?"

James smiled serenely, his voice soft and respectful, "You accepted him with his faults, understood him and respected him. But most of all you thought of him as a friend, I think that's what he was thanking you for most of all.

"Thank you for telling me about him, Sir. Compliment accepted."

James raised his glass, "To Morse," he intoned respectfully, Lewis nodded silently, lips pinched together as he clinked his glass against Hathaway's and drank to a man long gone and long missed, a man James wished he had been lucky enough to meet.

THE END


End file.
